End
by Thingygazinga
Summary: Sophie Foster knew it was going to come down to this. SPOILERS FOR LODESTAR


The man across from her glowered, his eyes a reflection of his fallen comrades, smoldering like the fire that crackled around them. The dust that surrounded everything seemed to tremble in the air, carried on every single air molecule, a clog to her breathing.

Sophie coughed, hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palm like sharp teeth, indenting over the ridges. She stumbled across the clobs of building materials, reduced to shambles, blackened at the edges. The scent of burning filled her nostrils, a suffocating grip that clenched tight and refused to let go.

The man turned at the noise, focusing on her. He looked like a mess, unprotected, isolated. It gave her a small spark of satisfaction, though Sophie knew she probably looked no better. Her clothes hung like rags, her hair was charred like charcoal, and there was a tender spot on the left side of her stomach; the aura of a clean hit, boosted by a Sucker Punch, lingered like a scar.

Fintan sneered, lips dry and cracked, pulled back like a wild animal's. He clutched a sword in his hand, grip spazzing as if one part of him was struggling to get as far away from the dangerous weapon as he can. However, he held tight.

Sophie recognized that sword. The last time she had seen it, it had been stuck under a fallen prison, trapped between stone. The last time it had been used, it had drawn blood, raged death.

She paused in front of him, neither moving. Her legs shook imperceptibly. Her brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. Her body was leadened and heavy, like the weight of everything was pummeling her all at once.

 _But he was the final obstacle. The last one standing._

The thought alone spurred Sophie onward. She pulled up on all of her strength, lassoing every emotion into the tight knot below her ribs that pulsed and throbbed painfully against her body, a ball of darkness that fought to be released.

"Is this what you wanted?" she spat out, voice hoarse. Her ears ringed, and the question buzzed like static. "To rip apart everything? To kill thousands of innocents?"

He chuckled, a hacking sound that teetered at the edge of insanity. "Sophie Foster. We meet again, I suppose."

She could've attacked, inflicted with all her might, dropped him on the spot. But it wouldn't have been powerful enough. It wouldn't have kept him down for good. Her hand drifted to her stomach as if she could feel the build up that was consuming her whole.

"That's not an answer," she hissed.

"Oh, but what is? We are not so different, you and I-"

"Cut the crap. How do you think that _murdering_ people is good? You've taken so many lives, already. There's-"

"Really? So, tell me, little Moonlark, how is prepping a baby to be used as an asset for a war good? How is breaking minds any better than slitting their throats? Save them the torture, I say. The line between light and dark is blurred. Good is relative, really."

"Yeah, but it's better than killing. There's always another choice, a chance to redeem themselves and to be pulled back. That's what I'm here for." Sophie's arms trembled. It was one thing to seethe and detest an enemy with all of her might. It was another to be accused of possessing characteristics of said enemy.

"Yet the Council was ignorant of your existence until three years ago. That didn't stop them from performing the practice, even with the knowledge of mindless infinity. And look, didn't you and your friends practically imprison my friends? Trap them in dusty cells, left to rot for eternity?"

"They _killed_ people. Elves. Creatures. What do you have to prove for this . . . this massive obliteration?"

The fire shivered, a heat wave of destruction and chaos. Sophie could see Foxfire in the distance, a heap of shattered glass and broken debris. It made her heart tense like a coil, a undulation of sorrow clawing at her chest. She pushed it into the writhing mass of emotions, another feeling transferred into pure energy.

Fintan let out a chortle, and he stepped forward. His pace was warbled, wavering in the smoke that blazed like a shield between them. "They've failed me. They've _all_ failed me. What am I to do now? You have stripped my plan to nothing, Miss Foster."

"So surrender. Give up. Get rid of this mess."

 _He was the final obstacle._

"Ha! There will always be more insurgence. Your whole life would be spent trying to crush them all. The Council's way is the wrong way, however "fair" they are to each creature. Look at the humans. Look at how violent they've come, staggering around like blind fools. You will never be able to stop everything. In fact, my acts are just the beginning. New things are coming into place. Soon, we will wear you thin. Our forces will overpower yours."

Sophie scoffed, but a part of her tinged with worry. Unconsciously, her mind lashed out, stretching into Fintan's, shuffling through the snares that pressed against her. If they had figured out the Neverseen's plans beforehand, prevented it from happening before it ever took form in the first place, the war would've been so much more easy, Kenric wouldn't have passed. Calla wouldn't had to have sacrificed herself. So many lives could've been saved and-

She crashed into what felt like a brick wall, thrusted back into reality, hurtled out like a limp doll. Sophie gasped wetly, stuttering back in surprise, shock, almost tripping over the knoll of cracked pillars. She gaped down at the hilt of the sword that protruded from her abdomen, mind speeding in an incomprehensible speed. It blanked just as fast, and she watched in paralyzation as her blood soaked her clothes like a plague, seeping into the fabric.

A trap.

Of course.

She should've known.

Sophie looked up, her eyes meeting Fintan's. Her hands fumbled over the sword, the jewel-encrusted handle, the blade that dug into her skin, metal pressed into her sides. A warm wetness that seemed to saturate her entire vision, screaming in blinding color.

His crazed gaze was gleaming in a bright sort of sick satisfaction. "Like mentor, like trainee."

The pain hit her like a speeding bullet. Her head clouded and she tasted iron on her tongue. The sword grafted against her skin excruciatingly, and the knot of emotions she had been building up thrashed and scratched at her. The volume turned up again, an exponential rush that sped at her from all sides.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a triumphant crowing. Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed her name.

 _He had been the final obstacle. And she had been one, too._

Sophie gagged, throat closing up, eyes wide with agony. It hit her that this was how she was going to die. Weak, on her knees with gravel cutting into her shins like spikes. And Sophie gritted her teeth and aimed her attention onto the emotions that spun like a tornado, trying to press on through the scathing blade, trying to gather it all again. And she was _angry._ Angry at herself for not noticing Fintan's amateur hook. Angry at Fintan for causing so much freaking _trouble._

She twisted the strands that whistled and bucked and flailed like it had a mind of its own, powering it up, injecting everything she had into it. Her body shrieked in protest. The sword shifted and slid out, a gaping hole of red red _red._

 _And Sophie thrusted out her hand and let it all out._

The strength drained out of her.

Her hands felt sticky and wet.

Someone was over her, blue eyes blurred, hazed, belonging to noone and everyone.

 _Don't you know that all elves have blue eyes?_

So hard to distinguish, to put a name to.

Hands were on her shoulder, pulling her up, up, up and Sophie let herself rest, her eyes close and . . .

And . . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .


End file.
